


Good Night Omens

by The_Rogue_Bard



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 'Smooching Crowley back to sleep' is not a tag but it absolutely should be, A lot of smooching, Aziraphale is a blanket hogger, Bedtime Stories, Crowley is cold blooded and definitely needs a blanket, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, I wrote this as a bedtime story but I'm also half asleep and it's way past my bedtime, M/M, Maybe there's a compromise here to be made, Sleepiness, but there's smooching and stuff so tomorrow my awake mind would probably not post it, no beta we die like men, so I'm uploading this now even though it's not been proof read...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Rogue_Bard/pseuds/The_Rogue_Bard
Summary: Aziraphale is a blanket hogger. Crowley is cold-blooded and needs a blanket. As always with these two, mutually beneficial Arrangements (TM) are come to.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	Good Night Omens

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I just wrote this because there's a lack of short, slow bedtime stories in fanfiction and I'm going to fill that gap. And I need to fill it while I'm half-asleep because I wouldn't upload this much smooching otherwise. (This is also the reason this isn't proof-read and I apologize, but I'll delete it tomorrow anyway.)  
> I hope you have a good night.

It was cold. That must have been what had woken Crowley up. Although, whether his current state could be declared „awake“ was more than debatable. A snake at heart, being cold was something that Crowley felt bone-deep and in any state of being. Even discorporated. Especially discorporated, because ironically, his cold-blooded corporation at least kept him a little bit warm by shielding his essence from the unforgiving space between the stars he used to inhabit.  
The question was: Why was he cold now, that he wore his favourite corporation and was safe and sound on his favourite planet with its nifty little houses and central heating?  
Searching, said corporation's hand miserably lifted from where it had sunken so comfortably heavy into the mattress, and patted around his shivering torso. Ah. That problem again. And what a problem to have! His cozy, heavy, expensive weighted blanket had vanished, as it did so often since Armageddon't. With a long, low sound that disapprovingly vibrated out of his throat, Crowley rolled his unwilling bodyweight around to face the culprit: He should have known, from all these millennia that he had watched him be soft and comfortable and hedonistic... Aziraphale was a blanket hogger. And Crowley loved him. Loved that that now meant, that his blanket was at peril of being gone, every single night.  
“'ziraphl,” the demon grunted. But even though Aziraphale preferred not to sleep (except if it was to keep his … his Crowley – company), he was a particularly heavy sleeper, so Crowley didn't expect him to answer to the butchering of his – to be fair unnecessarily complicated – name. But at least he stirred a bit, before settling even deeper into the mountain of blankets he had accumulated. Crowley made another sound that was more reminiscent of bears than of snakes, and just... wiggled closer to the angel; close enough to pull the blankets over his own slender frame, and then – as reparations for having been robbed of his rightful warmth – huddled into the glorious heat that was the stationary heating system called Aziraphale.  
Stirring became rousing, and the angel slowly blinked at his new demonic appendage that contently closed his eyes. “Crowley?”  
“Shh, jussleep,” the steadily warming being slurred and dragged one arm lazily over Aziraphale's waist to tug him even closer. Since Crowley clearly didn't want to have a conversation about stolen blankets right now, the only answer was a hand slowly stroking the short hair in the back of his neck, before it slightly tilted Crowley's head a little so that the angel's lips had no trouble finding his. It was a slow, deep, and only half-awake kiss for both of them, and if Crowley or Aziraphale could remember them the next morning, they would have long since decided that those were the best kind. Especially because they lasted just as long as any desperate kiss of passion, but they were not as hectic so it was easier to feel all of it. Every second.  
“Go back to sleep,” Aziraphale whispered when they finally parted, only to drive his command home by carefully pressing one feather-light kiss to each of Crowley's closed eye-lids.  
“I will,” Crowley agreed dutifully, and barely comprehensibly for anyone but Aziraphale, who was overdue to receive his doctorate at linguistics with the speciality of sleep-drunk Crowley dialects. “...'f you do tha' 'gain.”  
“My love,” Aziraphale said in that voice that somehow always forced Crowley to believe just how much he meant that word. “I will never stop doing this.” And with that he leaned in for another slow drag of his lips against the demon's. When he pulled away with a last tiny smooch on Crowley's upper lip, the love of his immortal life had already fallen back asleep.


End file.
